


The Story of Tonight

by NyxEtoile



Series: Dying is Easy, Living is Harder [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Sharon Carter is Captain America, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile
Summary: Now she looked at him. “They shot a ballistics missile at you, James. You could have died. I’m allowed to have emotions about that.”

  With his metal hand, he stroked a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I could die anytime I go out on mission.”

  Her jaw tightened. “And I have emotions about it, every time.”

  He wasn’t good with emotions. Not real ones. He could fake just about any you could name, if a mission required it. Could manipulate them in others. But actually feeling them, dealing with them honestly? That was generally beyond him. When he was with her he was able to work on instinct, not have to think and rethink everything so he was putting forward the right mask, playing the right part. She saw through him when he tried.

  Amanda only ever wanted James.





	1. If There's a Reason I'm Still Alive

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> Set during the Winter Soldier events in _See You On the Other Side of the War_. Sharon is Captain America, Steve took the serum later and founded SHIELD. Natasha is the Black Widow, Hydra's top assassin. And Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier, former KGB spy turned SHIELD agent turned Avenger.
> 
> Awesome banner courtesy of Olives, as always.

James watched Sharon and Steve walk down the hall and waited until he heard their steps on the stairs before turning to Amanda. “Were you spying on her?”

She was turned away from him, washing dirty dishes at the sink, but he could tell from the way she moved her head she was rolling her eyes. “No. I went for a jog on the Mall and she started lapping me. We started talking. No orders required.” Now she did glance over at him. “I am capable of making friends, you know.”

He wasn’t going to touch that. “It was her idea to come here.”

“She visited me at the clinic yesterday. Seems like she’s been dying for someone out of the game to talk to.” The water went off and she turned fully, wiping her hands on a towel. “She’s miserable at SHIELD, you know that?”

“I’m sure this isn’t helping.” He looked at his metal arm, sitting on the table, then ate the last few bites of his mac and cheese. “Thanks for taking us in.” Amanda didn’t reply and when he looked up she was watching him like he was crazy. “What?”

With a sigh and an expression he still didn’t understand, she tossed the towel away and crossed to him. “You want me to help put the arm back on?”

Anyone tracking him probably wouldn't think twice about him being at her place. When they left in the morning he’d have to take it off again, though. Still, being one armed all day had been no fun at all and had almost gotten him killed. If someone did attack in the middle of the night he’d be glad to have it. So he nodded and shifted so she could sit next to him.

She could probably do it in her sleep by now. Taking it off was pretty straight forward, he could do it alone with a little twisting. Getting it on required steady hands and a little finesse. And no one had steadier hands than Amanda. In a few minutes and only a couple of muttered curses she had it on and leaned back. Rolling his shoulder he flexed and stretched his fingers.

“Good as new.” He looked at her. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” She went to stand and he caught her arm. 

She didn’t turn to look at him and he frowned. “You mad at me, Doc?”

Her shoulders slumped. “No, _Soldier_. I’m just. . . tired. We should sleep.”

He stood slowly, tugging her up with him. “‘Manda.”

Now she looked at him. “They shot a ballistics missile at you, James. You could have _died_. I’m allowed to have emotions about that.”

With his metal hand, he stroked a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I could die anytime I go out on mission.”

Her jaw tightened. “And I have emotions about it, every time.”

He wasn’t good with emotions. Not real ones. He could fake just about any you could name, if a mission required it. Could manipulate them in others. But actually feeling them, dealing with them honestly? That was generally beyond him. But she was clearly upset and he didn’t want her to be. So, for lack of any other ideas, he tugged her closer and kissed her.

She must have been upset, because she didn’t immediately lean back and argue with him. Instead she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. She was soft and warm against him. He’d long loved how she felt in his arms. Like she belonged there. When he was with her he was able to work on instinct, not have to think and rethink everything so he was putting forward the right mask, playing the right part. She saw through him when he tried.

Amanda only ever wanted James.

*

_Six Years Earlier_   
_August, 2009_

Three weeks short of her twenty-ninth birthday, Amanda Newbury almost died.

The doctors and nurses never said it, mostly, she supposed, because they didn’t have to. She could read her chart, even with one eye. That she was left with damaged sight and a scarred face was a best-case scenario. That’s what she would have told a patient. That’s what they told her.

She spent two months recovering, first in Nairobi, then in her childhood bedroom, with her father hovering over her. When the last of the infection had cleared and the wound in her cheek had mostly healed over and she could eat and sleep and walk like a normal person again, it was time to get up and start her life again.

August was spent writing cover letters and tweaking her resume. She sent it to hospitals, clinics, even a few research labs, though they weren’t her first pick. She looked up old friends from med school and sent inquiries to mentors, looking for advice and leads.

Two weeks into the Great Job Hunt of 2009 she got a call from Dr. Pike, her supervisor and mentor during her surgical residency.

“Are you still looking for a position?” he asked once the pleasantries were done.

“I am,” she admitted. Two hospitals had replied to her resumes, but neither was in a city she was particularly interested in living in. Plus, one was in the surgical department and she was really more drawn to emergency medicine.

“I have a lead, in Washington DC. It’s not hospital or clinic work, but I think you’d be well suited for it, given your history.”

Well, that could mean all manner of things. “Is it research?”

“No. Not at all. Are you familiar with SHIELD?”

It took real effort not to glance towards the wall in her dad’s study that boasted his army medals and pictures. She had grown up with a big poster of Sharon Carter, Captain America herself, on her wall. “I’m familiar,” she said trying to hold the sarcasm in.

“They’ve been sending out feelers for a staff doctor. Someone with surgical and emergency training. Military training is preferred but I thought perhaps with your MSF experience they might overlook it.”

Staff doctor for a semi-secret agency didn’t sound particularly exciting, which might be exactly what she needed. “I’m certainly interested.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Good. I think it will be a good fit for you. I’ll forward you the information. Let me know when you’ve made contact and I can send in a letter of recommendation.”

“Thank you, Dr. Pike. I really appreciate this.”

“Of course. I’m very proud of you, Newbury. It’s not easy to get back up after a trauma.”

Amanda ignored her instinctive prickle of defensiveness at the comment. It was well intended and she had spent a lot of time trying to get this man be proud of her. Not the time to pick a fight. “Thank you,” she said again before exchanging goodbyes.

Applying for the SHIELD position took a series of emails and phone calls. Dr. Pike sent in an utterly glowing letter of recommendation, as did her supervisor from MSF. Finally, she was asked to come up to their headquarters in DC for a face-to-face interview.

Dressed in her best interview suit, she strolled around the large, window lined lobby, waiting for her contact to meet her. People passed her, most in varying degrees of professional attire. For the most part it looked like any other modern office building.

“Dr. Newbury?”

She turned to greet the fit-looking brunette woman. “Agent Hill.”

Hill held out a hand and Amanda took it in a brief shake. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. This way.” Amanda followed her across the lobby into the elevators and down a long hallway to a meeting room. A glance around confirmed they were alone, though she rather expected their were cameras.

They sat and Hill asked the usual questions about strengths and qualifications. Some of it had been covered in their previous email exchanges, but Amanda suspected this was less information gathering and more sizing her up. She answered politely and calmly, and as honestly as possible.

“While the position is intended for base work, it’s possible you might end up in the field,” Hill said, glancing down at her notes. “Do you have any combat experience?”

Pausing a moment to decide how to phrase it, Amanda said, “I have proficiency in small arms and short and medium distance rifles as well as basic self defense techniques.” Hill was studying her and for the first time since meeting her Amanda felt self conscious about the ugly red scar that twisted her cheek. “Also, if you try to rape me I will, apparently, take a knife to the face and still kill you with a scalpel. Not sure how to quantify that on my CV. Special skills, I guess.”

Hill’s mouth quirked, the closest thing to an actual smile Amanda has seen so far. “I’ll mark you down as intermediate.”

Matching her bland tone, Amanda nodded. “Seems fair.”

Leaning back in her seat, Hill crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You know, when I mentioned to the other applicants that they might need to do field work they all perked up at the idea of getting to be a real-live spy. You looked like you smelled something bad.”

Usually she was better at hiding her reactions. Of course, she was sure Hill was an excellent spy. “I’ve had my fill of adventure. If the job requires it, I’ll step up. But it’s not something I’m going to be chomping at the bit to do.”

Hill nodded slowly, still studying her. Then she leaned forward and gathered up her files. “Well, I think we’re good here. I’ll walk you out.”

Blinking at the abruptness, Amanda scooped up her bag and stood. “Well, thank you for your time.”

Out in the hall they headed back towards the elevators. There were still several dozen yards and multiple closed doors to go when they heard the yelling. Amanda couldn’t make out many words, mostly variations on “fuck” and “bullshit.”

Hill stopped and held a hand out to get Amanda to do the same just as a door slammed open in front of them. A man with shaggy black hair and arms that looked like he could rip a phone book in half stepped out, still yelling at whoever was still in the room.

“Fuck you, and fuck them and fuck this place,” he spat out, gesturing for emphasis.

An equally well-defined man with lighter, tidier hair, stepped into the doorway, looking almost amused at the other man’s display. “This is why I recruited you, Barnes. Because you make me look so very rational.”

“This is bullshit, Barton and you know it. I’ve been here almost two years. How many times do I have to fucking prove myself before everyone stops assuming I’m going to go rogue or blow the op or whatever it is people are assuming about me?”

The calm guy - Barton - sighed. “Everyone works with a partner, man. It’s not personal.”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Hill asked, voice somewhere between drill sergeant and disappointed mother. They both turned to look at her, Barton still amused, Barnes mutinous. “If Agent Barnes had a problem with his assignments then I can review them. Put him on babysitting duty at the Fridge.”

Barnes’s eyes narrowed and a muscle twitched in his jaw, but he stayed silent. Wisely, Amanda thought. “We’re good,” Barton said easily. “Just arguing over who has to fill out the paperwork this time.”

“Good.” Hill gestured to Amanda. “This is Dr. Newbury, candidate for the staff physician job. Company manners till we get off the floor.”

Barton gave her a nod and a half smile. Barnes was still, apparently, being pissy. Hill started walking again and she followed at her heels, passing between the two men. Barnes watched them, almost vibrating with still volatile anger. 

As she continued down the hallway, she had the vague feeling of being watched and glanced back to find Barnes’s eyes on her. He glanced away when he saw her look. If Barton or Hill noticed they didn’t show it.

In the lobby, she and Hill said their farewells and Amanda turned in her Visitor badge before heading out to her car. She had the distinct impression that she’d gotten the brush-off and spent the drive home going over the other job leads she had.

In the morning, she woke up to an offer letter, with a very generous compensation package.


	2. Look at Where We Started

_January, 2010_

James Barnes had spent the first twenty-odd years of his life having no choice. You woke when the trainers demanded it. You ate when the trainers allowed it. You killed when they ordered it. It was the only thing he knew. Arguing or rebelling meant punishment. And while he could handle a truly staggering amount of pain, it didn’t make it any more pleasant. Especially given how . . . creative the trainers could be in their punishments. Running away from the Red Room at twenty-five had been the first real decision about his life he’d ever made. And that took him months of planning and second guessing himself before implementing it.

He’d then spent a few years killing for hire. Using all the ugly skills they’d given him to kill bad people on behalf of other bad people. It made him money, the only way he knew how. But it hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t known were possible. 

When Barton had aimed that arrow at his eye that dark night in Budapest Barnes had almost wanted him to loose it. It had taken a long time to be grateful he’d made a different call. And part of the reason he’d finally come to accept the job with SHIELD was the promise of choice. To veto the jobs he didn’t feel good about taking. It was a small thing, a thin vestige of control. But it was there and it was his.

Except, of course, when it wasn’t.

“You don’t have to take it,” Barton said for the fiftieth time. “There are other agents.”

“But I’m the best suited,” Barnes said, parroting Fury’s words from the meeting they’d just walked out of.

“You do like to remind us you’re the best spy here.”

The therapist they’d made him go to had told him having pride in his work was a good thing. “So basically, the message is I don’t have to do this, but if I don’t the odds of her and whoever does go with her getting killed go up.”

Barton didn’t answer immediately, but finally nodded. “That is a succinct way of putting it.”

Barnes ground his teeth and looked away, struggling to keep his temper in check. He used to be good at that. Press it all down and stay neutral. Sometimes it seemed like letting one emotion out let them all out. He couldn’t relax and let himself be friends with Barton without feeling like previously hidden rage would overwhelm him.

Making decisions meant sometimes making ones he didn’t like either option. “There has to be someone other than her to send. Someone in biomed?”

“They’re mostly kids. Or terrified of you. Or far less field qualified than Newbury.”

“She’s field qualified?” Barnes mental image of Dr. Newbury was of a quiet, unassuming woman very much at home in a sterile, safe, white room. Admittedly, some of his dislike for her (and other medical people) was probably some sort of psychological thing stemming from the doctors in the Red Room. Still, he really couldn’t picture her getting her hands dirty.

Barton rummaged through the files on his desk and tossed one at Barnes. You would think a place like SHIELD would use less paper. “Hill did the qualifying tests herself. Hand-to-hand isn’t going to blow anyone out of the water. But she can shoot like a soldier.”

He scanned file and raised his brows at the long string of high scores. “Well. Maybe she won’t get us killed.

They flew out on separate commercial flights. There was a medical conference in Minsk that was doubling as a chemical weapons hand off. Newbury would be able to mingle with the medical types and speak their language while Barnes kept his eyes peeled for anything suspicious. Normally he’d have been paired with a female field agent, to double the eyes on the ground. But given the extremely insular nature of the medical community, they needed at least one of them to be capable of holding an intelligent conversation.

A female agent would have been more fun. Nothing like completing a successful mission and celebrating in an adrenaline fueled fuck wherever you can find something resembling privacy. The Red Room had occasionally. . . provided entertainment - which had ranged from enjoyable to really uncomfortably creepy. Barnes had been delighted to find willing and eager women happy to hook up with a fellow agent. No one knew discretion like a spy.

He couldn’t picture Dr. Newbury ripping his shirt off and begging him to hold her up against a wall.

Right, thinking other thoughts. He needed to focus. He could find companionship once they were done. He’d never had trouble with that.

The hotel was high end, well appointed, with big rooms and plush beds. He checked in so he could change into his dress clothes. A quick text confirmed Newbury was in her room across the hall, doing the same. She was punctual, he’d give her that.

Half an hour later he finished cinching himself into his tux and hiding all the weapons he could on his body. With one last check of the room he went across the hall and knocked.

She opened the door wearing a teal blue cocktail dress and heels that put her slightly taller than him. Clothes were usually provided by SHIELD. Lord knew he hadn’t rented or purchased a suit in his life. Whoever had picked the dress for her must like her because he was very quickly revising his previous train of thought regarding her and wall-fucking.

Closing the door behind her, she fidgeted the bracelet on her wrist and turned to face him. She’d made a valiant effort to hide her scar with makeup and everything about her body language told him she was still self conscious about it. For some reason that caused a little ache somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. When he spoke, he put real effort into keeping his voice gentle. “Ready?”

She nodded and took a deep breath, then they headed down the hall to the elevators. The reception was being held in one of the hotel’s several ballrooms. It was crowded when they arrived and only got more so as the night continued. Someone probably hadn’t checked headcount close enough.

He hung around through three interminably boring conversations. Newbury held her own, to her credit, and actually seemed to be interested in the men she was speaking with. Clearly having her come had been a good call. He’d have stuck out like a sore thumb. At least now he passed easily as her bored but tolerant date.

He was scanning for a waiter with appetizers - there was never sufficient food at these things - as she wrapped up her current discussion about some new medication that was controversial for reasons he hadn’t figured out yet. When the gentleman had walked off, Newbury turned to him. “You should keep an eye on him.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, finally flagging down a waiter.

“He smells of phosphorous.”

Barnes dropped his hand and looked at her finally. “What?”

“He smelled like phosphorous. Maybe a little sulfur. White phosphorous based weapons were on the list of suspected deals in the file they gave me.”

He took back every negative thing he said or thought about her and this mission. “You caught his name?”

She nodded. “Eugene Farr. He claimed to be doing studies with bacteria, but there’d be no reason for him to be dealing with phosphorous. He had a recent burn scar on his wrist, too, now that I think of it.”

Barnes was already scrolling through the guest list on his phone. “Room 2190.” He looked at her. “Could you recognize weapons materials on sight?”

A brow arched. “Did you know there’s a ton of chemicals that are indistinguishable from water without testing its reaction to other materials?”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a maybe. Keeping in mind I’m not a weapons expert, I could certainly recognize phosphorous and a handful of others. Enough to prove there was a weapon being built.”

“Good enough. Come on.” He spotted Farr again before flattening a palm on her back and steering her for the exit. He felt and heard her sigh, but she went where he aimed her without protest.

In the elevator she calmly pointed out, “I was supposed to just make conversation in the ball room.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to field work. You gotta be flexible.”

She gave him a look that made him wonder if she was holding back an inappropriate retort. He kind of wished she’d say it. Then the doors slid open and the moment passed.

Breaking into Farr’s room was child’s play and Newbury found the chemical stash almost immediately. When they got back he was going to put in a suggestion to get field agents medical training. Or maybe it was just her.

“Phosphorus. This is sulfur, so I’m guessing this is chlorine. That’ll make mustard gas.” She bent to peer into a bottle with white rocks. “I’m guessing cyanide, given what else is here, but I’m not testing it.”

He watched her inspect the stuff, her tone clinical and mildly impressed. “You’d make a good supervillian, you know that?”

She glanced over at him, straightening. “Good thing Hill got her offer in first.”

Despite the current situation, he couldn’t help but grin at her.

Just as the door opened to reveal Farr, flanked by several tattooed men who were very much not doctors. For a moment all of them stood frozen. Barnes scrambled mentally, trying to think of an opening line to start talking his way out of this. Then one of the tattooed thugs cussed in Russian and lifted a pistol to point it at Newbury. And talking was immediately off the table.

He slammed into the thug, knocking the shot wide. If there was anyone in the neighboring rooms they were going to be calling the front desk or police at that. Barnes broke the other guy’s arm and called out “Run,” to Newbury. He didn’t stop to make sure she obeyed, throwing himself into the fray.

Fighting was an instinct. Like breathing or walking. At this point he didn’t have to think about his moves or plan the next. It was life or death and not just his. So he was going to win.

He sent the last thug to the ground and straightened, turning to the door and found Farr pointing a gun at him. Before he could squeeze off the shot he jerked, a gurgle bubbling up in his throat. He dropped to his knees, then to the ground revealing Newbury standing there, holding a bloody knife.

Barnes took a deep breath, staring at her a moment. “I told you to run.” It came out far harsher than he’d intended.

“There’s more of them in the hallway,” she said calmly. “I’m not a spy, I didn’t know if I could get past them without giving myself away.”

That was probably a good point. He ignored the vaguely uncomfortable feeling he had at the thought she’d been watching him beating the other guys senseless. She certainly didn’t seem fazed by it. 

Bracing his hands on his hips, he surveyed the room. “I need to call in for a clean up crew. The guards are going to come check on this eventually.” He nodded. “Right. Drop the knife, follow me.” She tossed it towards the guy she’d apparently gotten it from and met him at the door. He took her hands and wrapped them around his arm. “Lean into me, smile, stay relaxed. Act drunk if that will help. Got it?”

After the briefest hesitation she nodded and cuddled against his arm. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate how soft and warm she was, filing the feeling away for later. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

There was a cluster of more tattooed thugs at the end of the hall, between them and the stairs. They all looked over as soon he and Newbury started waling towards them. Newbury’s fingers were digging into his arm hard enough to bruise but she giggled and swayed on her heels, every inch the drunk girl ducking out of the party early.

As they passed one of the thugs grinned at him and said something crude about her in Russian. Picking a fight would defeat the purpose so he just winked in return and continued on, hitting the button for the elevator. It seemed to take an eternity for it to arrive. Barnes’s back burned as if the entire group were staring at him.

Finally, the doors slid open and he and Newbury stepped in. Just before the doors slid closed he saw one of the thugs heading down to the room, so he punched the button for the lobby.   
 “We’re leaving?” Newbury asked, stress threading her voice.

“With all haste,” he confirmed. He glanced at her. “You’re doing great.” She huffed out a little noise of disbelief but didn’t argue.

Once out of the elevator they made their way through the lobby, crowded on a Saturday night. He’d pinged their extraction and gotten _Back alley_ as the reply, so he started guiding Newbury to the back exit. They were mere feet from safety, which was generally when Barnes was the most nervous. So many things could go wrong in sight of the finish line.

Sure enough, as they neared a T-intersection he heard angry Russian coming from the side hallway. Newbury clearly heard it as well because she stiffened, stride faltering. With only seconds to react he did the first thing that came to him and caught her arm, turning her to press her to the wall. Pausing only long enough to murmur, “Sorry,” he tipped her head back and kissed her.

He could say, without exaggeration, that he was an expert at kissing. It had been taught in the Red Room the same as fighting and lying. He’d kissed hundreds of women and dozens of men, mostly during missions. It was a skill and generally he felt at least somewhat detached from it. Even off mission there was generally a purpose to it, though he did his best to hide that from whoever he was with.

Kissing Newbury started out the same as the others. He had to make it look good. Had to pour enough into it that the thugs turning the corner wouldn’t give them a second glance. It was theater and he could only hope she played her part competently.

Then she kissed him back.

She was soft and warm in his arms, at odds with the cool, vaguely prickly exterior she gave off. Her fingers sunk into his hair and she opened her mouth to him. Taking the invitation, he slid his tongue along hers and felt her shudder. His hands had been flanking her hips and he let one drift down, cupping her thigh and tugging it up. She hooked it around him and he slid the hand back up her leg, rucking her dress up dangerously high. She was wearing stockings, expensive and silky soft under his callused fingers. He squeezed her leg and wondered if he reached higher if she’d be wet.

Dimly, he was aware of the thugs walking past them. One might have snorted something rude. Neither he nor Newbury paid it any mind. He canted his hips, pressing her firmly into the wall behind her, sure she could feel exactly how much he was enjoying this. She gasped a little into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, tilting his head to kiss her again, deeper.

An eternity later, he lifted his head, looking at her in shock. She blinked, eyes dark and shook her head a little as if to clear it. His first, crazy instinct was to take her back upstairs to one of their rooms. The beds had looked really nice.

Then he remembered that they were in mortal danger and should probably be getting the hell out of there.

“Extraction,” he said, voice a growl.

She blinked a few more times, rapidly, then nodded. He released her leg so she could lower it, then tugged her gently off the wall. She fidgeted her dress back into place, then he flattened a palm on the small of her back and guided her down the hall to the exit.


	3. I Look Into Your Eyes and the Sky's the Limit

_2014_

Amanda had long gotten used to waking up to a cold metal arm pressed against her skin. Most advanced prosthetic technology in the world and they couldn’t have put a goddamn heater in the thing. James was currently sliding it down her stomach and she groaned. “What is it about mortal danger that makes you horny?”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Conditioning.” He cupped her sex and tugged her ass back against him, possessively. “Is that a no?”

“We have a lot to do today,”’ she pointed out. 

It was a token protest and they both knew it. But he kissed her shoulder and nuzzled at her before carefully removing his hand. “Raincheck?”

She rolled over it to look at his face. “Always.”

He grinned crookedly, studying her. “I couldn’t believe it when Carter brought me here, of all places.”

Amanda had had a similar thought when she’d opened the door to find the two of them. “Must be fate.”

Trailing a cool metal finger along the curve of her breast he asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

The obvious, immediate answer was no, of course not. She was a doctor, imminently logical and scientific. She’d been a boring, logical eight year old and the life she’d lived hadn’t changed any of that. But sometimes, when she let herself think about the odd twists and turns that had gotten her to this place, with this man, she had to wonder how she got so lucky.

That sentiment, however, had absolutely no place in this conversation.

He was clearly waiting for an answer, though, so she smiled and said, “I think you have a tendency to turn up. Like my own personal lucky penny.”

James grinned and kissed her. “Sweet talker.”

“Learned from the best,” she said lightly. He climbed out of bed and she watched him dress and leave the room, before climbing out of bed herself.

Her stomach twisted into knots the whole drive to the safe house. James watched the scenery pass with interest, clearly trying to remember the route. Once inside, she saw the moment when he, Sharon and Steve all started to wonder if they’d made a terrible mistake. “Trust me for one more minute,” she said, mostly to James. Sharon barely knew her, but she thought she deserved a little leap of faith from James after all this time.

He gave it to her, though that didn’t mean he was particularly happy about being lead to believe Fury was dead when he was, in fact, not. She had rarely seen him that angry. And, of course, because he knew Amanda could take it, she got the brunt of it. Such was the story of their lives.

She watched him storm out Fury’s recovery room and could feel the rest of them staring at her. “I’m sorry,” Sharon said softly.

Forcing a smile she was sure didn’t fool any of them, Amanda shook her head. "It's fine. He'll forgive me as soon as he gets horny again." It was an ugly, bitter thing to say, but not, entirely, incorrect. She grabbed her bag and left through a different door from the one James had gone through.

She had a little room with an inflatable mattress across the hall from Fury’s. It was as good a place to hide as anywhere, thought sitting on a wobbly inflatable mattress wasn’t the most dignified place to cry.

After a while Hill came to tell her there was a meeting. Amanda wanted to ask what she’d done to get that particular short straw, but Hill was on her way again before she could get the words out. Instead, she collected herself, splashed some water on her face and went to go plan the end of SHIELD.

Her presence there was probably more courtesy than anything else. But she was happy to voice her support of Sharon’s plan to take it down to the ashes, even if she couldn’t help with the actual burning. Afterwards, she personally escorted Fury back to bed, ran the tests she needed and cranked his morphine up so he’d actually get some rest instead of trying to get up and help Sharon and the others plan some more.

Dinner was MREs that she handed out like a frustrated mother with Happy Meals. Sharon and Steve got two each and she hovered to make sure they finished. Clean up and checking on Fury entertained her for a while, then she reminded them that a good night’s sleep made for better espionage and went back to her room.

It took all of five minutes for James to appear in the doorway. “You should have told me.”

“I did tell you,” she said calmly, tugging a sweatshirt on over her t-shirt. Next time she was going to request a less damp hideout. “You’re here. I brought you here. That was me telling you.”

“When you were good and ready.”

“When would have been better, James? You went dark while I was in surgery. I couldn’t be sure if any of the channels I knew of were secure. And they you showed up on my doorstep with Captain America.”

He crossed his arms. “And you waited twelve hours to take us here.”

“You needed sleep and food and Fury wasn’t going anywhere. Plus you admitted you weren’t sure you hadn’t been followed.”

“You should have told me,” he repeated stubbornly.

She turned on him. “And you’ve never done that. You’ve never hid anything from me or lied to me for the good of the mission?”

He looked away, immediately uncomfortable. The world’s best spy and as soon as she called him on his shit he fidgeted like a school boy. “That’s different.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t get the black onesie, but I was a SHIELD agent as much as you are. Fury trusted me with this and I did my job.” She threw a pillow onto the inflatable bed. “For all the times I respected yours the least you could do is give me this one.”

He didn’t respond, so she continued getting ready for bed, wondering if she was going to have to kick him out or just fall asleep with him glowering in the doorway.

“Everything’s fucked up,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Turns out I never really went straight, just traded blatant evil for secret. And I just. . . I thought you were separate from that. That I didn’t have to worry where I stood with you.” 

Amanda was tired and angry and hurt and didn’t feel like dragging this out any longer. Still, “One of these days you’re going to need to find another outlet for your emotions. Other than me.”

“‘Manda-“

“Don’t argue. Don’t pretend that’s not what happens. You feel confused and lost and you come to me. You’re happy, you come to me. You’re angry and you take it out on me. Because you trust me or because you know I’ll take it or god knows why.” She took a breath. “I’m tough, James, but I’m not indestructible.”

He stepped into the room hesitantly and touched her arm. “It’s not intentional.”

“I know,” she sighed. “That doesn’t make it better.”

With a little tug, he pulled her into his chest and rested his cheek against her hair. “You’re the only sure thing in my life. My safe harbor.” He squeezed her almost too hard. “Thanks for saving him.”

“You’re welcome,” she murmured. She had no defenses against vulnerable James. So she tucked her arms around his waist and leaned on him. “Did you want to sleep here?”

After a hesitation that clearly meant “yes” he asked,” Are you sure?”

She pressed a little kiss into his shoulder. “You can keep me warm.” After a pause, she added, “Let’s wrap a pillow case around your arm.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Deal.”

They huddled together, fully dressed under two thick sleeping bags. He wrapped a shirt around his arm and the rest of him was a furnace, as usual, so the night wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as she’d thought it would be. Drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat and the feel of him playing with her hair was familiar and comforting. Steve came knocking in the wee hours and James left with a goodbye kiss to see what he wanted. Amanda drifted back to sleep for a few hours before waking up to check on Fury and find food.

In the main room she found Steve and James proudly showing off Sharon’s old uniform that they had just liberated from the Smithsonian. “Seriously? That was your pre-dawn mission.”

“It was Rogers idea,” James said defensively, pointing at the other man.

She shook her head at him. “Sentimental old fart.”

He just grinned as Sharon came out and saw the uniform. The look she gave him was the stuff of epic romances. 

Amanda helped them load up and watched James gear up. “Hill has a secure line back here. Make sure someone calls me if anyone gets hurt.”

He nodded. “Cross your fingers it doesn’t come to that.”

“I always do. My best days are the ones no one needs me.”

Finally he seemed content with his amount of weapons and she walked him out to the cars where Steve, Sharon, and Hill were getting ready. James turned to her. “Kiss for luck?” he asked hopefully.

With an exasperated shake of her head, she grabbed a couple of the straps on his uniform and tugged him towards her, kissing him hard. She felt him start with surprise before framing her waist in his hand, fingertips digging in a little.

Breaking the kiss to breathe, she grinned at him. “Come back with enough pieces for me to stitch together.”

He looked rather shell shocked, which was exactly what she’d been going for. “Yes, ma’am.”

She let him go and he studied her face another moment before turning away and heading for the others. Sharon was giving him a very amused look and Amanda had to wonder if he was blushing.  
 Steve got into one car and the others got into a separate one. Amanda watched them drive away, lifting her hand in a wave, just in case he was watching.

*

_February, 2010_

Barnes thought about that kiss in the hotel hallway far too much. At random moments at work, on missions. Before going to sleep. When it started to crowd his mind when he was kissing _other_ women he knew he was probably in trouble.

He had never had a teenage crush, his puberty years having been spent fighting and desperately trying to get enough food. But he imagined this was pretty much how it went. Had he a geography textbook he absolutely would have doodled her name in it. But because he was an adult and _clearly_ emotionally balanced and mature, he decided to just ignore it and avoid her whenever possible.

Mid-February he went on a mission in Belize that ended in a necessary but messy assassination. His extraction was late and for a few minutes he’d been flashing back to his days with the Red Room, where you could be disavowed or killed anytime you became unnecessary. He trusted SHIELD more than that, or at least he trusted Barton not to let it go if they pulled any shit. But still the fear was there, especially on solo missions.

None of that got mentioned in his debrief, of course. Fury did make apologetic noises about the delay and the way everything went down, and a contrite Fury was as rare as Haley’s comet, so that was something. But he still left base feeling uncomfortably out of sorts. A blisteringly hot shower at home didn’t help, so he did what he normally did when work and his past got in his head. He headed out to the bars to pick up a woman to make him forget for a little while.

At his usual hang out he was met with paper hearts and cardboard cupids and remembered, with a sinking feeling, that it was Valentines Day. The bar was full of couples, with a smattering of single guys who looked more like they were drowning their sorrows than trying to find company.

Picking up a one night stand on Valentine’s Day seemed a little too sleazy, so he had half a beer and headed home. Maybe he’d get a couple hours of sleep and head to the range early to burn off whatever it was that was unsettling him. 

He intended to go home, he really did. But the idea of his empty apartment and cold bed made his stomach sink and a vague sense of panic start in his chest. So instead of turning left at the corner he turned right, heading for the Metro. He was the master of compartmentalizing, so even though he told himself he was just going to wander a bit and kill some time before heading home, he knew deep down he had a destination in mind.

Newbury lived in Georgetown, in a condo near the water. It was in her file at SHIELD and he’d made note of it when they were going on mission together, before the kiss, which made the knowledge slightly less creepy. He hoped. It occurred to him as he got off the Metro and strolled towards the water that, it being Valentine’s, she might have plans. Or at least company. He did not explore why that thought caused a flare of anger.

The lights were on in her house when he strolled up and while there were a few cars parked on the street, hers was the only one directly in front of her place. Now that he was here, he really didn’t know what to do. Presenting himself at her doorstep seemed kind of weird, especially given he’d been avoiding her so long. But he’d come all this way to see her, leaving now would only make his empty apartment worse.

So he strode up the front walk and knocked on the door. Maybe she’d be upstairs or in the back and not hear it and he could tell himself he’d tried and just-

The door opened to reveal Newbury, in sweatpants and a tank top with no bra, hair up in a high pony tail. She blinked at him in surprise and seemed to step back a bit. “Agent Barnes. Is something wrong?”

This has been such a stupid idea. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head and shifted on her feet. “You’re not hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.” Now was the time to apologize for bothering her and go home. Rent some porn and deal with his issues the old fashioned way. But she was look at him with concern and all he could think about was that moment in the hallway and the way she felt and tasted and smelled. “I want to kiss you again,” he heard himself say.

Her eyes widened and he could see her fingers tighten on the door. This was probably when she closed it in his face. If she didn’t punch him for being creepy. Maybe he’d request a transfer somewhere else. Siberia.

She stepped back and held the door open expectantly.

His breath came out in a rush and he stepped inside, turning so she could closed the door. For a moment she just looked at him, with an intensity that would have made a spy proud. “Just kiss me?”

Oh, there was no right answer to that. “I guess that would depend on you.”

“You know you have a reputation. At work. As a ladies man.”

Nothing in her tone told him what she thought about that particular rumor. “It’s well deserved. I don’t lie, I don’t promise anything. I’m not-“

She made a little huffing noise. “Your name is James, right?”

This was not going the way he’d expected. “What?”

“Your first name. It’s James? Not Agent?”

His real name was Iakov, or at least that’s what they’d called him in the Room. Barton had suggested he anglicanize it, though no one really used it. “Yes?”

She gave a little nod and stepped closer, curling her hand behind his neck to tug him down to kiss him. It took him a second to react before sliding his arms around her waist and tugging her against his chest.

It was just like the first kiss in the hotel, only now he had no time limit, no thugs coming to find them. They had all night and he was going to use every minute of it. She was as warm and eager as she’d been then, her pajamas soft under his hands. Her hair was damp as if from a shower and she smelled of flowers and vanilla. The unsettled feeling he’d been wrestling with started to unravel.

He’d done a visual sweep of the room when he’d come in. The stairs were off to the right, behind the couch. He started guiding her back there without pausing the rather intense make out session they’d begun. She moved with him without hesitation, arms tightening on his shoulders. When they reached the first step he slid his hands down to cup her ass, planning to lift her up and carry her. It was very apparent she wasn’t wearing anything under the well loved grey cotton.

He made it three steps before temptation overwhelmed him and he set her down. She made a little noise, of surprise or protest, then he slid a hand into the elastic of her pants and it turned to a moan. She was already damp and he felt her shudder at the first brush of his callused fingers on her clit. 

“Good?” he whispered, trailing kisses down her jaw.

“Y-yes.” He grinned at the way her voice broke.

“Good.” He nipped at her ear and her fingers sunk into his hair, tugging almost painfully. “Keep talking,” he told her.

“What? I-“

He drew his fingers along the seam of her sex, before going back to her clit, swirling around it in tight circle. “Tell me what you like,” he suggested, before ducking his head to kiss her breast through her shirt.

She blew out a breath and her grip in his hair gentled. “Harder,” she whispered.

He grinned and pressed his fingers firmer into her and stroked roughly. “Like this?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip and her hips lifted. “Fuck.”

“We’ll get there,” he promised and she laughed a little. He rested his forehead on hers, holding her gaze as he drove her higher. Her cheeks flushed and he could feel her growing slicker under his hand. “You gonna come for me, Doc?”

“Stupid. Question,” she ground out, yanking him down for a rough kiss. It was intense and explicit and distracted him briefly, fingers fumbling. She bucked into him and he pressed hard against her, which was apparently exactly what she needed because she cried out into his mouth and started to shake beneath him. Her sex twitched against his hand and he shifted to cup her so he could feel it. She rocked against him, riding it out and he held her, lifting his head to watch her face. 

This was exactly what he’d wanted. What he’d needed. To bring someone pleasure instead of death. To get lost in that and forget about the rest of the world. To forget what he was.

Newbury - Amanda, her name was Amanda, that had been in her file, too - sagged back against the stairs, breathing hard. Confident she wouldn’t arch right out of his arms, he shifted and scooped her up, taking the rest of the steps two at a time. The first door he opened was a laundry room, but the next was clearly the master bedroom.

He set her down on the bed and straightened, peeling his shirt off. She sat up and watched him a moment, then did the same. Her breasts were perfect handfuls with dark nipples taut with arousal. James had been in the middle of undoing his belt but felt the need to put a knee up on the bed to lean in and draw one peak into his mouth.

She made a sound that was both groan and laugh and stroked his hair almost tenderly. “Did I distract you?”

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, pressing a string of kisses across her chest.

She stiffened. “And you lie for a living.” 

Frowning, he pulled back to look at her. “Hey.” She refused to make eye contact with him, looking off to the side. He realized abruptly that she was hiding her scarred cheek. He also realized when he’d kissed her he’d avoided that side. He reached out to tug her chin so she should look at him. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“No.” Her arms shifted, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. He shifted, stroking his thumb over the wound and she flinched. “Don’t.”

Despite the fact he’d just watched her climax on her stairs not five minutes before, this was the first time he’d seen her vulnerable. Slowly, he leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth on that side, as gently as he knew how. Cupping the back of her head he kissed her cheek closer to the scar.

“James,” she whispered, hands settling on his shoulders.

He removed her glasses so he could continue his path up the scar. When he reached the top of her cheek he rested his forehead on hers and grinned. “Eyeball kisses probably aren’t sexy.”

She laughed, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. “Not really, no.”

“You are beautiful,” he told her, running his hands down her back. “And sexy. And smart.”

She didn’t respond right away, then she blew out a breath and he felt her hands on his belt. “Okay.”

He slid his hand into her sweatpants again, squeezing her ass. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. That’s the best you’re getting right now.” She had conquered the belt and now had his fly unfastened.

They fumbled with each others clothes a minute, then separated long enough to shed their pants. He caught her ankles, stroking his hands up her legs as he crawled up her body. She caught his face in her hands as they met for another kiss. This one felt different, deep, intimate. Somewhere along the way this had become more than just finding comfort in her body. This was something else entirely and while his instinct told him to be afraid of it, to detach the way he usually did, he found he didn’t want to. 

She reached between them, stroking her hand along the length of his cock and he shuddered, growling into her mouth. He cupped her thigh, lifting her leg and spreading her wide. Her touch changed, guiding him to her entrance. Then he was sinking into her heat.

For a moment they were still, breathing hard, breath mingling. Slowly, he started to rock his hips, sliding out of her, then back home. “Good?” She nodded, kissing him tenderly. “Harder?” he asked with a grin.

She returned the grin and shifted on the bed, cupping the back of his head. “Yes. Fuck me.”

Coming here had been the best idea ever. He hiked her leg up higher and started to thrust roughly, the bed shaking with the force of it. Amanda made quiet, desperate noises in her throat as he drove into her. They mingled with his labored breathing and the creak of the bed frame, a soundtrack that slowly rose in volume and intensity.

James felt himself reaching the point of no return and found he desperately wanted her there with him. He canted his hips, burying himself deeper on his down strokes. She gasped and clutched at him, nails digging into his skin. “Yes, yes. James. Please.” He bent down and kissed her, catching her cries as she started to tighten around him. Her hips bucked up into his and she shook. It was too much and just perfect, so he let go, arching deep into her as his climax roared through him.

He slumped down onto her, boneless in his pleasure. For a while they both drifted, panting and shuddering with the aftershocks of their orgasms. Eventually he felt her shift and stroke his hair off his face. He turned his head to kiss her wrist.

“Happy Valentines,” she murmured in his ear.

He blinked in surprise, then saw the wry grin she was giving him. Then he started to laugh, hard enough he had to roll off of her. Amanda joined him, giggling and pressing her face into his shoulder. When he’d calmed he rolled over and wrapped his arms around her. “Happy Valentines day, Doc.”


	4. What the Hell is the Catch?

_2014_

If Amanda had to make a list of people to sit vigil with, Nick Fury would probably not have been on the top of it. She had a great deal of respect for the man, and he clearly seemed to like her enough to make her his personal surgeon. But comforting or capable of distracting small talk he was not.

Of course, he was on a great deal of pain killers which seemed to make him paradoxically chatty.

“So you and Barnes. How does that even work?”

She stifled a sigh and looked heavenward. He’d insisted she bring the radio to his room to wait for the others to contact them. “Well, when a Russian-trained spy with a traumatic childhood and a jaded doctor get _really_ horny-“

He waved a hand in surrender. “I don’t need details.” She hoped that was the end of it, as silence was better than trying to bond with Fury. Then he tried again. “You just don’t make a lot of sense. From the outside.”

This time she didn’t bother to stifle the sigh. They didn’t always make sense from the inside, either. “It started out the way you’d expect. Comfort. A warm body. Then it just. . . we got comfortable with each other.”

“Barnes is not an easy man to be comfortable with.”

“That is very true.” Was probably the understatement of the year, if she was being brutally honest. Most people who avoided commitment did so because they felt it would tie them down and steal their freedom. James avoided it because he seemed to think he didn’t deserve it. Despite the fact they had spent holidays and weekends and God knew how many regular days and nights together. Despite the fact he knew her birthday and acknowledged their anniversary. Despite the fact he considered her the only certain thing in his life. Despite her relationship with him being the longest and stablest one she’d ever had. Despite all of that, he refused to admit they were “together” as Sharon had put it.

“Probably a cliche,” she said, fiddling with the radio antenna. “But it’s just very complicated.”

“Takes a certain kind of person to be with a spy.”

She glanced at him. He was looking off into the middle distance and she wondered if she was thinking of someone else. “Are you insinuating I’m not that type of person?”

“I think you deserve better.”

Her throat tightened. “Well,” she said softly. “We don’t always get to choose.”

The radio crackled in her hand. “Come in Base, this is Eagle Two. Over.”

It was James’s voice and relief flooded her. She pressed the button on the side of the radio and lifted it closer to her mouth. “This is Base, what’s your status? Over.”

“Mission accomplished. Carriers are down and SHIELD’s sins are brought to light. But we need medical assistance. Carter’s in a bad way. Over.”

She met Fury’s gaze and he waved at her to get moving. She stood and headed for the door. “What hospital? Over.”

“George Washington. They just loaded her in the bus.” He paused. “She looked bad, ‘Manda.”

He didn’t say over, but she said, “I’m on my way. Out.” She tossed the radio to one of the agents she passed and ran the rest of the way.

The drive into the city was a blur. In retrospect, it was a miracle she didn’t hit anyone, or die herself. Traffic ground to a halt a couple miles from the hospital - apparently dropping three aircraft into the Potomac caused a bit of a stir- so she ditched the car and ran the rest of the way, thinking about the day she met Sharon on her jog.

She didn’t have privileges at GW, but chances are she knew someone on staff that could get her into the OR. When she got there, however, she was met by Steve and two scrub nurses who took her back to the surgery immediately. It helped to be a national hero, she supposed.

The nurses updated her as she scrubbed in. Two knife wounds, six bullet wounds, two with exits. Multiple contusions and broken bones. Bracing herself for the worst, she went in and took a place at the table.

The lead surgeon looked relieved to see her. “I didn’t know. . . given her powers-“

Speaking with as much confidence and authority as she could, she said, “Her healing is ramped up, but her body is just like any other body. She needs blood and oxygen. So lets get the worst of the bleeders sealed and move from there.” He nodded, she took over on the scope and they bent their heads to get to work.

*

_June, 2010_

Amanda had learned long ago that you could adapt to anything. She’d gone from first world to third world and back again. She’d had perfect vision and come back with one eye almost blind. She’d adapted. The only way to go was forward.

You could also, apparently, get used to a rough edged, noncommittal spy showing up on your doorstep for sex on a semi-regular basis.

James Barnes was a bit of an enigma. His reputation at work was a gruff, mysterious, ladies man. Barton was probably the closest thing he had to a friend. Most of the women who had gone on missions with him admitted to sleeping with him afterwards. Sex seemed to be his favorite decompression method. And she seemed to be his flavor of the month.

Except, it had been four months, now, which if the rumor mill was to be believed was some sort of record for him. And at least a few times hadn’t been after missions but just, apparently, because he was lonely. Which was something she understood well.

At first it had correlated almost entirely with missions, often violent ones. He would show up on her doorstep after a debrief and a shower - sometimes not even the shower - and they would share a very pleasant evening together. That lasted a couple months, little more than booty calls or a string of one-night stands. Most of the time he didn’t even spend the night. It didn’t do much for her loneliness on a long-term scale, but it was nice, in the moment, to connect with someone.

Then he showed up on a random Thursday completely unconnected from a mission. She happened to be in the middle of a documentary on Netflix and he had gamely watched it with her before going upstairs. He spent the night, separating only when they got off the Metro at work.

After that, things slowly started to change. She called him up a couple times to invite him over. It became understood and assumed that Friday nights were take-out and Netflix, if he wasn’t on mission. Her sisters came into town and took her out for her birthday so she had to cancel. Saturday evening he showed up with her favorite Thai food and a wrapped package that he thrust into her hands after she let him in.

“What’s this?” she asked, inspecting the crisply folded wrapping job. Had the Red Room covered present wrapping or had he paid someone?

He didn’t look up as he dished out satay and pad thai and hogged the cucumber salad. “It’s a gift. I’m told it’s customary to give them at birthdays.”

It was a book, she could tell from the shape and weight. He’d bought her a book, apparently. “I wasn’t dropping hints when I told you why my sisters were in town. You didn’t have to run out and find something.”

This time he glanced at her. “I bought it a couple weeks ago.”

“You knew it was my birthday?”

“It’s in your file,” he said, gathering up their dinner to take to the couch.

She followed him, hooking a finger under the seam of the wrapping paper. “Is there a birthday in your file?”

“Nope.” He flopped on the couch and rummaged for her remote. “Just the date Barton brought me in.”

Well, she could ask Barton what it was, at least. Sinking into the cushion next to him, she peeled off the paper to discover it was an old copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_.

For a moment, she just stared at it. Until then, she’d assumed it was something he’d grabbed off the shelf at Barnes and Noble. He’d certainly been here enough to clock her love of horror and suspense. The latest King or Patterson would have been appreciated and in line with the sort of not-really-a-relationship thing they were doing.

This, this was something different. She opened the cover and turned the first few pages to discover that not only was it from 1960 - the year the book was out - but was also signed by Harper Lee.

She turned wide eyes to him. “How-“

“You said it was your favorite book,” he explained around a mouthful of pad thai. “When you were a kid. Your dad calls you Scout.”

That was certainly not in her file anywhere. A month or so ago he’d been over on a Sunday afternoon and she’d been watching it on AMC. She must have mentioned it then, though she’d have bet dollars to donuts he hadn’t been listening. “You remembered that?”

“I’m a spy. It’s my job to remember small details.” He pointed to her bowl. “Your food is getting cold.”

Very carefully, she set the book on the side table before digging into her satay. “Thank you,” she said after a few bites. “For the book. I love it.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Later, after dinner, a documentary about the Jazz Age, and some really excellent birthday sex, they lay curled in the dark under her covers. Amanda was about to drift off when James stirred and said quietly, “I don’t want you to read too much into it. The book.”

It took her a moment to process the sentence and get over the obvious pun. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. . . I don’t want you to think it means more than it means.”

It was took dark to see him clearly, but she rolled over to face him anyway. “More than a birthday present?”

He cleared his throat, sounding almost nervous. “It was just a friendly gift.”

That book had almost certainly cost several thousand dollars. Not to mention having to track down someone selling it. Amanda couldn’t recall ever spending that much money on a friend’s birthday gift before. And she would have bet good money that whatever he had gotten Clint Barton for his last birthday hadn’t cost four figures. If he’d gotten him anything at all.

“So we’re just friends,” she said cautiously.

“Yes.” The relief was evident in his voice.

“With benefits.”

He cleared his throat again. “I guess.”

She had seen James stare down Fury himself. He lied smoothly to shop keeps and heads of state alike. His reputation among the women she knew was that of a charming ladies man, that could talk his way into or out of anything. But here, with her, he was fumbling for words and uncertain. And none of it felt like a persona or ploy.

For her part, she had never read his file. She knew the gist of it, because everyone did. Taken at a young age, trained with other boys, shaped into a spy and assassin for Mother Russia. They didn’t speak of it and other than the occasional black humor joke or oblique reference. It just didn’t come up. But she didn’t imagine that he was at all familiar with what a healthy relationship looked like. Amanda didn’t have a long string under her belt herself, but she was pretty sure a standing weekend date, regular sex, cuddling on the couch, and expensive gifts counted as more than friends.

Clearly, he wasn’t ready for that, though. Maybe he didn’t realize it and she’d somehow tricked SHIELD’s best spy into being her boyfriend. Or, more likely, he was all too aware of it and it scared the shit out of him. Either way, she cared about him enough not to push. If he wanted this to be a friends-with-benefits thing, then that’s what they’d call it. Labels didn’t matter, actions did.

Leaning close, she kissed him. “Okay,” she said softly. “Thanks again for the book, friend.”

His arms slid around her and he tugged her closer, just holding her for a moment. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled into her hair.

*

_2014_

James sat in the waiting room with Rogers and Hill for hours, waiting for word about Sharon. He would have preferred to be literally anywhere else. He didn’t really know Steve and while he liked and respected Hill, neither of them were the comforting type.

But that was Sharon in there, with Amanda working her. He’d sit there all night if he had to.

The doctor who came to update them wasn’t Amanda, but an older man who worked for the hospital. He aimed most of what he said to Steve, but it was clear that Sharon was still alive, healing, and expected to recover quickly. It was all good news and Steve followed him back to go sit at her bedside. Hill left then, to go update Fury and start organizing the chaos that was SHIELD. Or what was left of it.

He kept waiting, figuring Amanda would be wiped out and need some one to see her home and make sure she ate. As a general rule, Amanda hated being fussed over. But she also, as a general rule, sucked at self care when she was stressed out or felt there was work to be done. It was entirely in character for her to decide, after half a day of surgery, to go help with triage down at the river.

If she emerged at all, of course. After fifteen minutes of no sign of her, he got up and headed deeper into the hospital. No one stopped him or even really looked twice. Ninety percent of getting away with shit was just pretending you were supposed to be there and knew what the hell you were doing.

Surgery was deserted, but he followed his gut and found one of the quiet rooms doctors used to nap when on call. Peeking inside, he found her sitting on the edge of the cot, in her street clothes, arms braced on her knees, staring into space.

She glanced up when he came in, but didn’t react until he sat next to her and slid an arm around her shoulders. “She should have died,” she said quietly.

“But she didn’t,” he replied, just as soft. “You and the other doctors-“

Amanda shook her head sharply. “She should be _dead_. The blood loss, the trauma. Anyone else would have been DOA, at best. And there would have been nothing I could do-“ She sniffled and the dam broke, tears welling up in her eyes.

He tugged her close, wrapping his arms around her. “I know. I gotcha.”

Burying her face in his shoulder, she started to cry properly. “I never wanted to do that again,” she managed to get out. “Not to someone I knew.”

James just rocked her, stroking her hair and holding her close. Amanda tended to process big emotions as anger, so he rarely saw tears. Some of this was probably exhaustion. It had been a hell of a few days.

Finally, the tears tapered off and she leaned back a little to scrub at her face with her knuckles. “I’m all right,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he said, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “What say we go be fine back home?”

Shaking her head, she reached past him to grab a box of tissues off a shelf. “I should go down to the river, help with triage.” She suddenly whipped her head around to look at him. “Are you okay? Oh, your head.”

He caught her hands before she could start inspecting his wound. “I’m fine. A nurse stitched me up while we were waiting.” His arm was worse than the head, but he wasn’t going to mention that. “And you are going home, not the river.”

“But-“

“You don’t work for SHIELD anymore,” he reminded her gently, standing and tugging her to her feet. “And you’ve earned some rest.”

She didn’t look happy and he was a little afraid he was going to have to go full on caveman to get this to happen. But then her shoulders slumped and she nodded. “A nap would be nice.”

Today was full of little victories. He tucked his metal arm around her waist and opened the door, guiding her along the hallways to the exit. “And a shower and food. Order negotiable.”

“I guess you aren’t mad at me anymore,” she commented.

God he was an ass sometimes. “No. You were right. I wasn’t mad at you, you were just a convenient target.”

She looked startled a moment, then hid it. “I guess you can share my nap and my meal, then.”

“What about your shower?” he teased.

“I’ll think about it.”


	5. Couldn't Seem to Die

_April, 2011_   
_Odessa, Ukraine_

It wasn’t the first time an op had gone sideways. It wasn’t even the first time James had been pretty sure he was going to die. It was, however, the first time that thought had bothered him.

The mission had seemed simple when it had begun. Locate the scientist and escort him to the SHIELD carrier waiting on the coast. From there, a jet would take them both to safety. Simple, right? He’d done dozens of escort missions in his time at SHIELD. This should have been no different.

That had been before the lone figure had appeared in the distance and blew his Jeep out from under him. James had dragged the scientist out of the wreckage into the foot hills surrounding the road. His radio was toast, but there were only a couple dozen miles from the rendezvous point. They could leg it if they had to.

He didn’t see the shot that took out the scientist. He knew it happened because he heard the guy drop, then felt blaring pain in his arm. Whirling around, he saw that same lone figure standing on a hillside a few hundred yards away.

It was slim, and short, with a shock of red hair. Through the haze of pain, he had a moment to be amazed that he was actually seeing the Black Widow in person. He’d always assumed she was a myth. Something whispered about in the dark corners of the espionage community. Maybe the one he was looking at was just one in a long line of trained women. He’d long suspected that the Red Room he’d been trained in wasn’t the only underground assassin farm in the world. Or even in Russia.

All this flittered through his head in the few seconds they stared at each other. Then the Widow turned away and walked out of sight.

Pain drove him to his knees. It was not the first time he’d been shot. But, much as the Red Room had tried, that was not a pain you grew accustomed to. So he needed a couple minutes to breathe through it and assess.

The scientist was dead. He was not. A little poking indicated the bullet was still lodged in his muscle, having gone through the other man and into him. That was bad. Not shot-in-the-liver-bleeding-out bad, but bad.

He started walking. The rendezvous point hadn’t moved. His mission might be over, but the goal hadn’t actually changed. Make it to the coast. Get on the boat. Get the fuck out of this place.

He walked the rest of the day. The pain ebbed and peaked. He was bleeding sluggishly but steadily, the wound too high up to tourniquet. He drank all of his water. Things started to blur around the edges and it was hard to stay awake. For a while he hallucinated, thinking there were shapes in the trees, monsters at the edge of his vision. He saw his old trainers from the Room, they got him moving quicker. For a while Amanda was there, walking next to him, calm and silent, steady as stone.

He didn’t remember the search party finding him. He’d blown the rendezvous time by over six hours, so it made sense. As far as he knew, though, one minute he was staggering along the Ukranian countryside and the next he was waking up in an evac chopper. The people around him had SHIELD insignia and spoke English, so he decided he was safe and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke, he was in a proper hospital bed, with monitors and sterile white sheets. There was someone sitting in the chair next to the bed and when he turned his head to look he was surprised to see it was Amanda.

She smiled when he looked at her and he felt fingers curl around his hand. “Hello, sleepyhead.”

“Hey,” he said, wincing a little at the rasp of his voice. “Where am I?”

“Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. In Germany. It was the closest place to work on you.”

Right. The bullet in his arm. “You work on me?”

She shook her head. “No. I just got here an hour or so ago. I was in DC and hopped a plane when they found you.”

He smiled a little. Well, they hadn’t exactly been subtle, and they worked with spies. He was sure half the base knew he spent time in her bed. “S’good to see you.”

“You too.” She sounded a little hoarse. “You should get some rest, James. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. Sleep sounded awesome.

The next time he woke up she wasn’t in her chair. A glance around the room found her crashed out on a cot next to the bed. Relieved, he hunted around for the button that would lift his bed up a bit. He felt far more awake now, and sort of hungry. Maybe he could manage to get a nurse to bring him some food without waking Amanda.

When he couldn’t find the button on his right side he glanced to the left and discovered a bandaged stump where his left arm had been.

Apparently he made a sound. Amanda told him later it was something like a scream. Whatever it was it woke her and had her standing next to the bed in an instant. “James.”

“Where the _fuck_ is my arm?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he felt sick.

“There was massive infection,” she said quietly and calmly. “The muscle was shredded and nerve damage was extensive. The decision was made to remove it.”

“It was a bullet. You just dig it out.”

She blinked at him, eyes owlish behind her glasses. “James, it was a slug from a high powered rifle. It destroyed your bicep and some of the tendons attached. It’s a miracle you didn’t bleed out, let alone manage to stagger all the way to help.”

He tried to focus on her words. He could remember assessing it as not that bad. Clearly shock had set in almost immediately. The lump he’d thought was the bullet had probably been muscle or detached tendons balling up.

“Could you have saved it?” he asked, voice rough.

She swallowed hard before answering. “I don’t know.”

“Could you?”

“I don’t _know_. I’m not a god, James. I saw the pre op pictures. It was very bad. I was an emergency surgeon, I keep people alive. In a perfect world with no complications, and the best orthopedic surgeon in the world? Maybe. But your arm would never have been the same again. Or you could have died on the table with they were fiddling.”

“That would have been better,” he bit out.

She closed her eyes briefly. “James-“

“What the fuck use is a one armed spy, Amanda?”

“You can train. You can do recon. You can get a prosthetic and continue on as if nothing happened.” Clearly the sympathetic part of this conversation was over. “You work for a man with _one eye_ you think he’s gonna bench you for this?”

“It’s different,” he said stubbornly.

“Only if you make it so. You want to be of use then it’s your job to get up and make yourself useful.”

“Says the woman who gave up her dreams of saving the world to give physicals to spies because she got a boo-boo on her face.” That was mean. He knew it was mean as it came out of his mouth, but by then it was too late to stop. They’d never much talked about her scar or what had happened to her, but he knew it was much more than that. He knew she was sensitive about it and he said it anyway. Because he was angry and scared and she was there and saying things he needed to hear but didn’t want to.

He saw the hurt cross her features and it was like a punch to the gut. Before he could begin to form a sufficient apology, she leaned closer. “Dying is easy, James. Living is harder.”

With that, she turned on a heel and left the room.

Barton showed up the next day, grim faced and supportive the way only a fellow stoic sniper could. James didn’t tell him he felt useless and scared and Barton didn’t offer any platitudes or reassurances. He stayed until the hospital said James could go home, then he flew with him and helped him get settled in his apartment.

“You live in a shithole, Barnes,” he commented as he filled his fridge with things he could eat one handed.

“I don’t usually spend much time here.” It was supposed to sound defensive. He want on missions, what did he care what the place looked like when it was empty half the time? But it had come out wistful, because most of the time he was at Amanda’s place.

Barton glanced over at him, clearly hearing the odd tone. “Pissed off Doc, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James muttered, rifling through the stack of mail they’d brought in.

“Uh-huh. If a woman disobeyed Fury for me, I’d at least avoid annoying her till I got out of the hospital.”

He looked up. “What do you mean she disobeyed Fury?”

Barton straightened and closed the fridge. “Word came in you were missing and she put in a request to go help with the search. Fury said no. Word came back you were hurt and it was bad and she reissued her request. Fury reminded her that there were competent doctors in Europe. She seemed to take it at face value. Then she used her clearance to charter a flight, citing medical emergency. By the time Fury found out, she was an hour from landing.”

Through his shock, James had to laugh a little. That was very like her. Don’t waste your breath fighting when you know how to work around it. “She came to see me in the hospital. Was there when I found out about the arm. I didn’t take it well and she . . . got the brunt of that.”

He still felt pretty useless, especially when he had trouble doing simple tasks with one hand. But with a few days of practice and the shock worn off he could see light at the end of the tunnel. He could still shoot. He could do desk duty for a while. It wasn’t the end of the world, even if it was the start of a different kind of life. Of course, he didn’t know how to tell her any of that without first apologizing for being an ass. And that was something he wasn’t very good at.

“It would be simpler if she was the kind of woman won over with flowers,” he mused out loud.

“If she was that kind of woman, you wouldn’t like her,” Barton replied.

*

_June, 2011_

Amanda’s last yearly review had brought praise, a raise, a promotion, and an office. Shockingly, her blatant insubordination three months ago hadn’t resulted in any of that being taken away. Privately, she was pretty sure Fury was kind of proud of her for commandeering that jet. He did run an agency full of spies founded by Peggy Carter and from what Amanda had read that was one of the most Peggy Carter things she’d ever done.

She was now in charge of coordinating health checks of all the agents stationed on the east coast, which meant a lot of sitting at her desk writing emails and checking daily reports of the doctors at various bases. She missed seeing patients, sometimes, but kind of liked the privacy it gave her. 

It wasn’t, technically, a break up if you’d never been dating. James had been back from medical leave for over a month and hadn’t so much as poked his head in to say hello. It was probably just as well. He wasn’t going to apologize for how he acted and she had no patience for self pity. Their little . . . thing had just run its course. Still, she missed seeing him everyday. She missed leaning on his shoulder watching TV and eating take-out. He had fit himself into her life quite nicely, relationship or not, and now he had left a hole.

Her birthday was in a week. Maybe she’d take a couple days off, go up to New York to see her sisters. Or down to the Outer Banks, if she could find a rental. Nah, it was probably too late for that. But if she started planning now maybe she could get some of the family together for something in the late summer.

There was a tap at the door and she glanced at her calendar to make sure she hadn’t forgotten a meeting before calling out, “Come in.”

The door creaked open and James stepped inside, looking a bit like he expected her to throw something heavy at him. She wasn’t much of a thrower, but she hated to disappoint. She was still debating between her stapler and geode paper weight when she noticed he was sporting a brand new metal arm. “Ah. Out of prototype, is it?”

“Yeah.” He lifted the arm and waggled his fingers. “They put it on this morning. Told me to call if I had any problems.”

“Have you?”

“Not yet. It’s not the same as the real one. But it’s a hell of a lot better than what I thought I’d end up with.” He glanced at her, still a little wary. “Funny, I don’t remember signing up for it.”

“Clearly you had someone in the medical department looking out for you,” she replied tartly.

“Yeah.” He looked down and cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. In Germany. You were trying to help me and I wasn’t. . . I didn’t want to hear it right then.”

Amanda poked at the clutter of pens on her desk, nudging them to line up with each other. “I could have had a better bedside manner. You’d just found out about your arm and deserved some time to process. You just. . . scared me a bit.”

He nodded and they were quiet a moment. “So, I know your birthday is coming up,” he said finally. “I was wondering if I could take you to dinner on Friday?”

_Like a date?_ she wanted to ask, but didn’t. He’d made his rules clear a long time ago and she’d abided by them, dancing around anything that might indicate they were in a relationship, despite having all the earmarks of one. The words seemed to bother him, and other than their recent spat, they were a good team. It was a small enough thing to keep him happy.

“Somewhere fancy?” she asked, teasing a little.

His mouth quirked up. “I don’t know if this thing can handle tying a tie. But I’ll find you somewhere nice.”

Something tight and unpleasant unraveled in her chest and it felt easier to breathe. She really had missed him. “Dinner sounds great.”


	6. Love Doesn't Discriminate

The restaurant he found was a very nice, fairly new bistro in Adams Morgan. Her seafood risotto was amazing and his steak was practically still mooing when they brought it to the table. They had a s’mores fondue for dessert that she had absolutely no qualms about ordering.

“You could have shared a little,” James teased as they walked down the block to her house. They’d taken a cab, but her street was a little hard to negotiate, so it had been easier to hop out on the main street and walk.

“I let you have a marshmallow,” she replied.

“One! One marshmallow out of the bowl.”

“It was my birthday dinner. Get your own fondue.”

He grinned and shook his head, sliding his arm around her waist. She tucked into him happily. It had been a really nice night. They fell into step with each other as they walked up to her front steps.

James stopped when they reached her door, glancing up at the porch light before looking down at her. “I had a nice time, thank you for coming out with me.”

There was a vaguely old-fashioned, gentleman caller vibe to him right then and it made her smile. “Thank you for asking. It was a very nice birthday dinner.” She trailed her fingers along his sleeve. “You want to come in?”

He hesitated, which surprised her, almost as much as his next words. “I didn’t want to presume anything. . .”

“Which is why I’m offering,” she said. She reached for his hand and he flinched back and she realized she’d been toying with his metal arm. Reaching for his right hand instead, she said hesitantly, “James?”

He shook his head and gave her an attempt at a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s just a little ugly. Is all.”

Heart aching for her normally indestructibly egoed James, she took his other hand, weaving her fingers with the metal ones. “You once told be I was beautiful when I needed it most,” she said softly. “Come inside and let me return the favor.”

With a little shudder, he nodded and leaned in to kiss her. It was sweet and tender and felt like coming home and getting lost, all at the same time. He untangled their hands so he could wrap his arms around her, lifting her a little off her feet. She held his shoulders, letting him take her weight. The metal arm hugged her tighter than his flesh and blood one ever had. But it didn’t hurt, only made her feel more secure.

After a getting lost in each other a moment, he set her down and she turned to unlock the door. He followed her inside, closing and locking the door behind him like old habit. She took his hand again as they crossed the living room to her stairs. There was something different in the air tonight. Maybe it was the time apart. Maybe it was the arm. But it all felt oddly new and monumental.

Upstairs, James turned on her bedside lamp so she left the overhead alone. He turned to her and she kissed him again before he could say anything. She knew he felt shy about his arm. She knew this was hard for him. But she loved him, had for a while now. And even though she knew she couldn’t ever say it to him, she was determined to show it to him.

His hands flattened on her back and he fumbled around until he found the zipper to her dress. “Thank you for not having buttons,” he mumbled on her mouth, slowly sliding the metal hasp down.

“Not good with buttons?” she asked.

“Not fast with buttons.”

His shirt was a button up, black underneath a black jacket. A suit with no tie. She slipped one button free, then the next. “I’d have let you rip it,” she informed him solemnly.

Brows arching, he gave her a crooked grin. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Ask first.” She untucked his shirt tails to get the last of the buttons, then slipped shirt and jacket off in one motion. He took the opportunity to peel her dress down as well, leaving her in her underwear. He had an undershirt on, plus his shoes and slacks, leaving him more or less dressed. 

It gave her her first good look at the arm. She’d seen prototypes of it, and dozens of drawings, but seeing it attached to him was something else entirely. Overlapping plates ran the length, down to his fingertips. He looked oddly nervous as she looked at it so she ran her hand down its length. “Can you feel that?” she asked softly.

“A little,” he replied, glancing at her hand, then back to her face. “It’s dimmer. More distant. Like when your foot falls asleep and you touch it.”

She was still impressed. When the prosthetics team had talked to her about hooking the arm into existing nerve bundles to allow for sensation she’d been extremely skeptical. To know they’d succeeded at all was a huge breakthrough for the technology.

There were scars on his shoulder and upper arm, all surgical and healing well. She dipped her head to kiss one neat the connection points of the arm, then turned her head to catch his mouth with hers. He cupped the back of her head, kissing her tenderly.

It was then that she felt him take control of the kiss. He was usually the more dominant one in bed. She teased him for being bossy sometimes. His hesitancy had been a little bit worrying. Now he seemed fully engaged, tugging her closer so she was half in his lap.

So clearly it was the best time to prod him a little more. She lifted her mouth off of his just enough to murmur, “I bet you could hold me up against a wall with that.”

He groaned, chest rumbling with the sound. Without responding, he stood, lifting her up with that metal arm under her ass. They hit her bedroom wall right next to the closet door and he supported her there, apparently easily, while he fumbled with the fly of his pants. She considered helping him in the interest of speeding things up but figured she was better served holding onto him for balance.

His pants got dealt with, almost certainly with ripping, then he tugged her underwear to one side and she felt the familiar press of his cock against her entrance.

“Okay?” he whispered, already breathing hard in her ear.

“Always,” she replied, kissing him tenderly.

He sighed from deep down in his soul and pressed into her, hitching her higher. She wrapped her legs around his waist and braced her shoulders on the wall. Then he started to move, deep and slow and just perfect.

It was a slow, almost gentle climb to her climax. James seemed in no rush, like he’d happily hold her there all night. She’d always pictured wall sex as fast and frantic. And maybe if they did it again sometime it would be. But James seemed content to bury his face against her shoulder and rock into her achingly slowly.

“I missed you,” he whispered, almost too quietly for her to hear.

She shifted a hand enough to stroke his hair. “I’m right here,” she promised. “Right here with you.” He nodded against her skin and started to move just a little quicker, just what she needed.

She wondered, sometimes, if he understood that when she said such things it meant much more than pillow talk. He was a master at double speak and hidden meanings, so maybe he did understand. The only way she could really tell him how she felt about him. Straight ahead would send him running, so she’d learned to come at it from the side, as best she could.

If he reacted at all to the words and the promise behind them, it was lost in the cresting of her orgasm. She clutched at him, shuddering and gasping. With a groan, he pressed her hard into the wall, burying himself deep as he followed her in release. She could feel his knees almost buckle and squeaked in alarm, but he managed to stagger back a few steps before collapsing onto the bed.

Amanda landed on top of him in a rather untidy pile. After a moment to catch her breath, she started to laugh hysterically and a heartbeat later James joined her.

“I think we’re too old for wall sex,” she said when she got a hold of herself.

He nodded, cuddling her close to him. “We’ll stick to nice soft locations.”

“And occasionally the kitchen table,” she added, making him laugh again.

*

_2014_

James let himself into Amanda’s house after his meeting and found her in the living room surrounded by yarn. He stopped next to the coffee table and blinked a moment. “Did a grandmother’s spare room explode in here?”

“That was a rather tortured route to calling me old,” she said, not looking up from her sorting. “I was going to knit Sharon some socks. She seems the type to appreciate it.”

“Aw, you’ve officially adopted her.” Only people she really liked got socks. He had about a dozen pairs of hand knit Amanda socks. She muttered about it every time, because he wanted them in dark colors and apparently that was hard to knit with. They’d been getting lighter and lighter. He had to admit the grey striped ones were still pretty manly.

She sighed and looked up at him, glancing at the file tucked under his arm. “How was your spy stuff?”

“Fine.” He stepped over the half full plastic bin of _more_ yarn and cleared himself a spot next to her. “We sat on back to back park benches and spoke Russian. He slipped me the file folded up in a newspaper. It was enough to make me nostalgic.”

Setting aside the pile of yarn she’d sorted through, she leaned on his shoulder and tapped the file in his lap. “Did you read it?”

“Glanced over it in the Metro,” he admitted. “Dark stuff.”

She made a noise of sympathy and curled her arms around his. “How are you doing?”

He sighed. That was the first time anyone had asked him that since SHIELD had come down. “Shell shocked. Disheartened. Did I tell you I got a summons to appear in Congress.”

“You mentioned. You should dust off your suit.” She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “You don’t have to be okay. Your world came down. You get to deal with that for a while.”

“I know.” He looked down at the file again. “Want to come say goodbye with me?”

“I do. I helped pick out Fury’s headstone, I want to see it.”

Of course she had. She probably volunteered for epitaph duty.

They drove Amanda’s car out to the graveyard. Fury probably could have wrangled a spot in Arlington, being a colonel and all. Still, he’d chosen some old, out of the way cemetery in Virginia.  
 Sharon and Steve were already there, saying their goodbyes to Fury, by the look of it. James had talked to the Director the night before and turned down his offer to come Hydra hunting. Someone needed to stick around here, help pick up the pieces. Get life rafts for loyal SHIELD people, clean up the prisoners and tech that had escaped the Fridge. Yell at congress. He might not be the best diplomat in the world, but he could fake it. 

Besides, Amanda would have killed him if he’d run off to Europe for God knew how long.

She hung back to talk to Fury as he passed and James continued on to talk to the immortal blonds.

“Here to pay your respects?” Sharon said with a smile.

Never one to beat around the bush, he held out the file he’d gotten. "I called in a favor with some old friends in Kiev.” After she took it, he added quietly, "Be careful. You might not want to pull on that thread.”

She opened the file to glance at the first page and the expression on her face indicated she didn’t like what she saw. He felt a pang, but then, she’d wanted to know. He could almost see her gather up whatever she was feeling and tuck it away to be dealt with later.

They discussed future plans, which he hadn’t really given much thought to. He’d never actually been unemployed before, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with himself. If was pretty obvious by their body language that Sharon and Steve would be picking up wherever they’d left off before she’d come back to work with SHIELD.

He glanced over his shoulder at Amanda, who was studiously reading Fury’s headstone. "I've been promising her a vacation. Maybe I'll finally do it.”

When he looked back Sharon was clearly looking at Amanda as well. "Do me another favor, Barnes?" She looked back at him. "Don't break her heart anymore.”

It was as good as a punch to the gut. He cleared his throat and tried to blow it off, but Sharon wasn’t having any of it. James swallowed down the sour truth and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Amanda came up behind him. "Is the spy stuff done or should I find other gravestones to be fascinated by?”

James took her hand as Steve and Sharon invited them to visit California sometime. Amanda sounded somewhat sincere when she agreed to think about it, then stepped close to hug Sharon tightly. It should probably concern him that those two were friends. But Sharon needed all the friends she could and he knew first hand what a steadying influence Amanda could be.

They watched the other couple head to their rental car, before turning to walk through the headstones to Amanda’s car.

He paused to read Fury’s headstone. “The path of the righteous man?”

“He said I could pick whatever I wanted and he didn’t care,” she said, sounding vaguely defensive. “I don’t know a lot of appropriate epitaphs.”

“It works,” he assured her, kissing her temple. She made an almost adorable grumpy noise and they kept walking.

“So what now?” she asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Wasn’t that what everyone wanted to know? “I think I’m unemployed,” he said.

“I don’t think spies get unemployment benefits.”

“No pension, either.” Out the window, green hills spotted with grey and black head stones and plaques rolled past. It was mesmerizing and for a moment James let himself get lost in his thoughts.

He’d never not had a job, not really. The Red Room had taken him when he was very young. When he’d run from them, he’d taken freelance jobs, unable to sit still with himself. Then Barton had found him and SHIELD had taken him in. And he’d been busy, in one way or another, ever since. He didn’t do well with stillness, with boredom. His demons got loud and his nights restless when he let himself stop.

Except when he was with Amanda.

Pulling his attention away from the world outside, he looked over at her. She was watching the road and clearly giving him his space to sort out whatever he was thinking. She was always good at that. Giving him the space he needed and pushing when he needed pushing. If he allowed himself this moment of honesty, he hadn’t always been good to her. Sharon was right, he’d probably broken her heart a few times.

“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly.

“Not sure.” She turned on the main road, heading for the highway. “I took some time off at work, told them I knew people in the carrier crashes. They’re fine with it. I know Hill needs help with damage control and-“

“Let’s go on vacation.”

She cruised right through a yellow light and pulled over to the side of the road before turning to look at him. “What?”

“A vacation. I owe you a vacation, don’t I?”

“Several, actually,” she said in a dry, all but unreadable tone.

“So let’s take one.” This was probably a stupid idea. He’d probably be miserable on vacation. She’d spend the whole time waiting for his to disappear or turn it into a mission or something. He didn’t blame her for being skeptical. This was the most out of character suggestion he’d ever made.

“I wan to rent a house on the Outer Banks,” she said firmly.

He blinked. “Okay.”

“And at least one weekend I want to invite my sisters and father and introduce you to them.” She threw it out there like a challenge.

He swallowed hard. It was ridiculous that that should fill him with terror. He rode a collapsing building to the ground less than a week ago, meeting three civilians shouldn’t even rate. “Okay,” he repeated, trying to sound certain.

With a little annoyed huff, she looked out the windshield and added. “And I will buy a brand new bikini.”

Now they were talking. He grinned. “Okay.”

She smiled and nodded, looking almost shy. “Okay.”


	7. Satisfied

_New York City, 2012_

Amanda had never been in war, but she had been very close to it, when working for MSF. She had seen the aftermath of it often. And New York after the Chitauri invaded looked as bad as any war torn area she’d ever seen.

As soon as the portal closed and the remaining aliens fell, SHIELD moved into action. The World Council was bitching and Hill and Fury and the others on the helicarrier were licking their wounds. But those agents on the ground knew their jobs and Amanda’s job was to heal people. So she gathered up some medical staff, recruited a couple of field agents and flew up the New York to help with triage.

They set up in Bryant Park a few blocks from Stark Tower, outside the public library. She’d been a little worried the local PD and EMTs would resent them coming. But they’d just watched the Avengers take down aliens on hoverboards, so they seemed to be willing to take all the help they could get.

She threw herself into the work, because it kept her from thinking about James. Word from on high was that the team had made it through without casualties, but she didn’t think her stomach would settle until she’d heard from him directly. For now, all she could do was keep her head down and help as many people as she could.

It was getting dark when the steady stream of injured slowed down. She wandered over to the food cart that had stationed itself on the edge of the park. The guy behind the counter waved away her credit card and handed over her fancy grilled cheese and tomato soup. She found a bench to sit on and started eating for the first time since breakfast.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket halfway through the sandwich. She strongly considered ignoring it, but she was currently an emergency service so it was probably bad form to screen her calls. So she shifted her food to the bench next to her and dug it out. “Doctor Newbury.”

“Hey, Doc.”

Relief flooded her, making her almost dizzy. It was strong enough she was almost annoyed at it. “James. Where the hell have you been?”

There was a pause. “Saving New York?”

“The portal closed-“ She pinned the phone with her shoulder and checked her watch. “Seven hours ago.”

This pause was longer. “We got schwarma.”

She rubbed her temple. “Who is we?”

“Me and the team. Barton, Stark, Rogers. Banner came back, that was awesome. Oh, and Thor! He can eat a _lot_.”

She had no doubt of that. “I assume if you’re eating then you’re unharmed?”

“Superficial cuts only.” There was a pause and some murmuring like he was talking to someone in the background. “Sounds like Stark is putting us up in one of his hotels for the night.”

“Pays to be on a team with a billionaire, does it?” she asked dryly.

“Clearly.” He cleared his throat and spoke quieter. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I don’t know what I’ll be back in DC, but-“

“I’m not in DC,” she interrupted, taking another bite of sandwich. “I’m in Bryant Park,” she continued around her mouthful.

“What the hell are you doing in New York?”

The vague thread of panic in his voice was interesting. Was he concerned she was going to crash his boy time? “You may have noticed some civilians in the way of all your superheroing. I’m trying to keep them alive.”

He was quiet a moment and when he spoke again, he sounded chagrined. “Is it bad?”

“It was busy, but we seem to be through the worst of it. I’m stopping to eat.” She chewed another bite.

Another long pause. “You could come to the hotel. . .”

Amanda pulled the phone from her ear to look at it before bringing it back to answer. “Are you attempting to arrange a booty call from me, James Barnes?”

“You know how I like to decompress after a mission.”

She shook her head, chuckling a little. If she didn’t know him as well as she did she would have been tremendously annoyed. But James making an effort to see her meant a James who was out of sorts. Clearly the battle had shaken him up more than he wanted to admit.

“I’m still working,” she said, aiming for gently exasperated so he wouldn’t know she was on to him. “But if I wrap up at a decent hour I promise to come service you.”

She could hear him smiling when he said, “Play your cards right, I’ll service you.”

They hung up soon after, so his team wouldn’t get on to him. Amanda wolfed down the last of her food and went back to the triage line to help with the new stragglers that had come in.

When she was wrapping up the last of them one of the agents that had been hanging out came to talk to her. “The Avengers have settled in at some hotel uptown. They requested a doctor come check out their bumps and bruises.”

To her credit, she didn’t react at all. “Any idea if we’re talking bandaids on boo-boos or setting bones?”

“Sounded like closer to the first than the second but no one gave me specifics.”

“Let me put together a bag and I’ll head over.”

“We’ve got someone grabbing some spare clothes for everyone so no one has to sleep in their uniforms.”

That was rather thoughtful. Someone was on top of things. She gathered up a few packs of sterile tools, multiple rolls of gauze and tape, a couple of splints and ace bandages and similar mild-to-moderate injury supplies. By the time she was done, they’d come back with clothes and she hoped in the official SHIELD black, tinted window SUV and headed over to the hotel.

Dr. Banner assured her he was fine, that the Hulk tended to heal him up before shifting back. He did happily accept the extra clothes she had and her card, in case he changed his mind about a check up. Sharon Carter called through the door that she was fine and just going to sleep. Clint Barton smiled when he saw her and let her pick out the shards of glass out of his back and arm. She gave him an antibiotic shot to hold off any infection, then cleaned and bandaged everything.

“Do you want something to sleep?” she asked him carefully. She didn’t know details, but knew he’d been held prisoner by the bad guy with some sort of alien brainwashing stick. He seemed to be currently holding it together, but that was a recipe for PTSD if she ever heard it.

“Nah, I’m-“ He stopped and seemed to reconsider. “Maybe a couple.”

She nodded and dug out a couple mild sedatives. “Just take one, about half an hour before you want to sleep. If you need more that this come see me or another SHIELD doctor once you’re back at base.”

“Sure.”

That was the least believable agreement she’d ever heard, but she knew enough not to push. “Sleep well, Clint.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “You’re gonna go see him?”

“Stark is next,” she said. “Then him.” She arched a brow. “Anything I should know?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t with him much during the fight. You’ll notice the cut on his head right away. Check the ribs, he was holding himself funny.”

“Got it.” She hesitated. She didn’t actually know Clint very well, but he was James’s absolute best friend and a good man, so she felt it was her duty to check in one more time. “You sure you’re all right?”

His chuckle was bitter. “I’m far from all right. But I’ll make it through tonight. Probably tomorrow, as well.”

It was a sentiment she was very familiar with. “Talk to some one if that changes.”

He gave a nod and she felt better about leaving him in peace.

Tony Stark was exactly as she’d expected him to be. Arrogant, brusque, and larger than life. She stitched his head up with a minimal amount of drama and went over the signs of concussion with Pepper Potts, who was stationed firmly at his side.

For one moment, just before she was leaving, she saw the veneer crack. Pepper had her back to him and Amanda glanced over the other woman’s shoulder to see Stark sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands hanging loose. He was staring off into the middle distance, with the stark, glassy eyed look of a soldier at war.

If she called it out, he’d put the mask back up. The best thing for him was probably a night in privacy with someone he trusted. So she slipped Pepper one of her cards, assured her she’d come running if they called, and went on her way.

James’s room was a few floors back down in the elevator. The door was propped open on the deadbolt lock and she pushed it open further, knocking. “Agent Barnes?”

The bathroom door opened and he came out with a towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair dripping water onto his bare shoulders. “Agent, huh? Are we roleplaying, Doc?”

It was funny. She’d thought, once she’d heard his voice on the phone, that she was all right. He was safe and alive and she could relax. But right then, looking at him whole and hearty with an enormous bruise blooming on his ribs, she was struck with another wave of almost panicked relief. She crossed the room in a few steps, dropping her bag and throwing her arms around him.

His arms came around her, crushing her up against him in a way that had to hurt his ribs. He pressed his face into the side of her neck, lifting her off her feet. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

She sniffled indelicately and leaned back to look at him. There was a cut over his eye that had already started to scab up and that bruise on his side was almost certainly evidence of bruised ribs. If they were broken he wouldn’t have been able to hug her like that. “I’d like to bind up these ribs,” she said, gently palpating the area.

He flinched a little, which probably meant most people would be passing out from the pain. All he said was, “Kinky,” before allowing her to guide him to the edge of the bed. He even let her slap a few butterfly bandages on his cut to help it heal cleanly.

“I’m not sure I’m up for any servicing,” he said as she packed her stuff away. “But I’d . . . I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

She bit back all the questions she had about the last twenty-four hours and just nodded. “I think I’ll clocked out for the night.”

There were clothes for him in her bag and he tugged on a pair of sweatpants while she stripped down to a tank top and underwear. He held the sheets up for her to slide into bed next to him. Usually she liked a bit of space when trying to sleep, but when he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her against his side, she didn’t protest.

“I might have nightmares,” he said quietly into the darkness.

“I know,” she said, just as quiet. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He smiled against her hair. “Thanks for being here, Amanda.”

“Thanks for not dying, James.”

*

_Two weeks later_

James hated being bored.

Had you asked him, right after he Battle of New York, he’d have begged for some boredom. For a few days he barely slept and had to be reminded to eat - a first in his adult life. They escorted Thor to the park so he could take his brother back where he came from. That seemed to be the cue for the rest of them to go their separate ways.

He had no idea where Barton went. He wasn’t talking to anyone about what had happened to him. But Fury had convinced whoever he needed to convince not to arrest him for “helping” Loki. James wasn’t exactly the model of mental health, so he really didn’t think it was his place to pester him about dealing with his issues in a healthy manner.

Carter hung around, which was kind of nice. Getting her files on all of her old comrades killed a day. Taking her out for pizza and introducing her around Fogwell’s in Hell’s Kitchen so she could go somewhere low-key to destroy punching bags killed another. But she wasn’t exactly feeling like company, and once Steve Rogers reemerged from the California Redwoods she disappeared, leaving him alone.

And bored.

So bored, in fact, he went in to the Triskelion a few times to beat up a few new recruits. Surprisingly - or maybe not so surprisingly - SHIELD’s recruitment numbers had jumped after the Battle. There were a lot of people eager to join the next battle against aliens. He tamped down his desire to tell them exactly what it had been like and focused simply on training them as best he could.

“They’re eager,” he told Amanda in her office later that day. “And green. And so. Fucking. Young.”

“Most of us start out young,” she offered, typing away at something on her computer.

“I don’t think I was every young.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to him. “Just because you don’t remember, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

He hated when she got all zen and saw right through him. “Still. They’re going to get themselves killed.”

“Well, that is a hazard of the job.”

The ticking of her computer keys was starting to irritate him. Not that it took much lately. “What are you writing, anyway?”

Her fingers stilled. “My resignation letter.”

It felt like she’d tossed ice water on him. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if she had. “You’re _quitting_?”

“I’m leaving SHIELD, yes. I’ve got resumés out to several clinics and hospitals in the area and have some interviews lined up. If none of those work out I’ll expand my search area.”

“When did - Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

Very slowly, she lifted her hands off the keyboard and turned to look at him. “I was not aware I needed to run my employment decisions past you.”

He cracked his jaw. “Usually you talk to me about things.”

“You’ve been busy and haven’t really seemed interested in deep, intricate conversations about my future.”

If he was her boyfriend she probably would have talked to him about it anyway. But he’d spent the last three years making it very clear that they were not a couple. She had always respected that. But he supposed the other side of that coin was that no, she didn’t have to discuss her life choices with him. He didn’t know why that grated on him so badly. Why it hurt.

All he could think to say was, “Why are you leaving?”

Her hands flexed, then she folded them together. “I joined SHIELD - and MSF - because I wanted to save the world. Naive, I guess, especially the second time around. But I’ve always been ambitious.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I’m saving anybody here.”

He gestured behind his shoulder. “We saved the world from aliens!”

“No. You did that. You and the Avengers. I spend most of my time pushing paper around and email.”

“You went to New York. Did triage.”

“I did,” she conceded. “And that was the first time I saw patients in months. And I really liked it. Hundreds of people came through that park and I _helped_ them. I even helped you and the other Avengers when you needed it. I realized that’s not something I can do with SHIELD anymore. So I’m going to move on.”

It hit uncomfortably close to home, that sentiment. Carter had said something similar the last time he’d talked to her. Barton was having a crisis of faith somewhere on his walkabout. Maybe he was the weird one for not questioning his place in the world. Aliens had poured out of the sky, Stark had damn near died, and all James wanted was to get back to spying. Business as usual. Despite the fact his face had been on the news and he was now sort of famous.

He swallowed hard. “If you leave DC, I’m not going to go with you.”

Surprise flickered over her face, followed swiftly by something like pain or grief. Then she arranged her features back into a semblance of calm. “It never occurred to me you would.”

_2014_

James had never appreciated how peaceful it was by the ocean. The water around Russia was always cold and usually rough. The men who sailed it were equally rough and cold. When he’d left the Red Room he’d briefly considered finding work on a ship, doing something useful with his hands that didn’t involve killing people. After buying a few rounds of vodka for some guys on shore leave he was thoroughly convinced a sailors life was not for him. From then, the ocean had always seemed dark and dangerous to him.

But their month in the Outer Banks had changed his mind. The Atlantic was calm and blue, occasionally almost warm. He hadn’t expected to enjoy his vacation quite as much as he had. But spending days lounging on the beach or the deck of the rental house had been remarkably relaxing.

Even the visit from her family hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. They knew she’d worked for SHIELD, and she’d only told them he was an agent she’d met when she was there. So they were a tiny bit surprised to find out he was, in fact, an Avenger. Once the initial surprise wore off things were pretty normal. Her sisters liked to tease her, her dad liked to talk about guns, and the beach made everyone mellow. Over the three days he’d gotten a glimpse of what it was like to be on a family vacation. He’d been a little sorry to see them go.

Now it was very late, Amanda was fast asleep, and he was sitting on the deck, listening to the ocean and staring at the stars, thinking.

There was a faint creak and the swishing sound of the glass door opening behind him. Amanda’s steps were soft on the wood floor of the deck. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” He tipped his head back. “Why are you awake?”

“I had a dream. Your absence was noted.”

Probably meant a nightmare. She hadn’t had one in a very long time, as far as he knew. He held a hand out and she slipped hers into it, letting him tug her close.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair.  
 “Thinking.”

“What about?”

He sighed. “The past. The future. Life. Death.”

“Ah.” She kissed the top of his head. “Light vacation thinking.”

With a little tug on her hand he pulled her into his lap. She rolled her eyes and made a disgruntled noise but allowed him to settle her across his thighs, legs dangling over one arm of the adirondack chair he was sitting in. “Your family is nice,” he told her.

“I like to think so.” She shifted, tucking an arm around his waist to help hold herself on. “They’re mine, though, so I have to think it.”

He rubbed her back in big circles, metal arm around her legs to make her feel secure. “I’ve been thinking about what to do next.”

“You don’t want to hide here forever? Because I’ve been giving it serious consideration.”

He chuckled a little, because he knew it was a lie. She was as restless as he was and they were getting close to the end of their patience. They were going to need to think of something to do, alone or together, or they were going to start sniping at each other.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, half surprised at himself for saying it at all. “About going back to Russia to find my parents.”

He felt her startle a little at that. She rubbed a hand over his chest, but didn’t say anything.

So he added, “I was thinking I might like company on that endeavor.”

That was apparently surprising enough to get her to lift her head. “You want me to come look for your parents with you?”

He lifted a shoulders with as much feigned nonchalance as he was capable of. “I met your family.”

She smiled and snorted a little laugh before resettling her head on his shoulder. “I’ve never been to Russia before.

“I’ll show you the sights. Kremlin, St. Basil’s. Red Square.”

“Kremlin’s the garishly colored thing with the boob roofs?”

He shook his head and kissed the top of her head. “You have no culture in your soul, Doc. No art.”

“And you love me for it.”

The words seemed to shut his brain down. She’d likely meant it as a joke, but it was far truer than she knew. Or maybe not. Amanda had always let him go at his own speed.

“I do,” he agreed, rubbing her back again. He could feel her muscles relax at the words. “And you love me for my charming personality.”

She laughed and cuddled closer to him in the chair. “Yes, I do.”


End file.
